Susanna Hoffs is still hot.
Yup, I said it. She’s hot.
That fact alone might explain the near capacity crowd at the Fine Line for the Bangles show last week. Though I don’t think you can discount the people who don’t give a rat’s ass about Susanna but were hoping that her presence would lure Prince out of Paisley Park to make one of his elusive public appearances and lust after his former (not-so-eternal) flame.
Alas, Prince wasn’t at the show, but it seemed that just about every other Minneapolitan male was. At first, I was dumbfounded. What were all these men doing here? Were they all dragged out by their significant others? No, that couldn’t be because a. there appeared to be more men than women, and b. why would any woman do that? It’d be far more fun to go with the girls. Were the men all huge Bangles fans? Didn’t seem likely. I furrowed my brows, looked every male within eyesight up and down and ruminated on this during the down time between bands. I even had a bartender tell me to loosen up and not look so serious. After careful examination, it became clear, and the tension in my perplexed face gave way to a triumphant smile. I found that the men in attendance all fell into one of three categories:
1. The Lusters
This polo-clad group was comprised of 28-37 year-old males who all had crushes on Susanna Hoffs when they were little and who now wanted to know if they could still legitimately use her as fantasy material. They found out they could! Her hair wasn’t as big as it was in the 80s (a known aphrodisiac of the time), but she now had perfected the sort of hair flip with Bambi eyes peering out from underneath that could stop any rock-loving man dead in his tracks.
2. The Gay Men
Self-explanatory. (It should be noted that this group did include drag queens)
3. The Creepers
Basically, we’re talking 45-55 year-old men who fit the visual profile of sex offenders. These men were all flying solo, talking to no one. They stood there watching through their old school gold-rimmed glasses our fathers wore in 80s, not muttering so much as an “oh WAY oh” on “Walk Like An Egyptian”. How could they? They were too busy mentally undressing the women on stage.
It seems clear that the Runaways have secured their places in rock history as the queens of rock’n’roll, but I would argue that the Bangles have climbed from the L.A. punk rock scene and safely earned the spot of rock’s rightful princesses. Vicki Peterson (vocals/guitar), Debbi Peterson (vocals/drums) and Susanna Hoffs (vocals/guitar) still know how to put on a show that packs the Fine Line and has the audience actually digging the new songs instead of boasting the standard bored-to-tears faces of fans longing for nostalgia only. Not that there’s anything wrong with nostalgia, of course. I’ll admit that’s why I went—to re-live the days when I didn’t know that she was late to work on Manic Monday because the night before she was…well…you know.
It was a solid choice to open with a hit single, "Hazy Shade of Winter", but smart to make it a cover, so as to get people revved up for the likes of "Manic Monday" (the third song in the set) and "Eternal Flame", which crept in mid-set. It's a good bet that most of the audience was dying to hear "Walk Like An Egyptian", and when the Bangles brought out that classic for their first encore, the 80s vibe was so thick you could've sworn the Coreys were there!
As great as "Walk Like An Egyptian" was, and as much as I don't want to discredit its pop brilliance, it can't pass by without critique. I'm sure I wasn't the only one there that night whose heart sank when the song finished with not so much as a hint of the whistling break-down mid-song nor the coo-coo-clock eyes that Susanna rocked in the video, giving every 80s boy a near heart attack and every girl a clear vision of what they wanted to be some day: the sultry sex kitten their father didn't want to let out of the house.
The Bangles have that certain je ne sais quoi that can bring together people as diverse as the Lusters, the Gays, the Creepers, the women, and the strangely gyrating couple in front of me who brought to mind the Chicken vs. Egg dilemma….only this time it was a question of what was moving what: was his wandering hand moving her butt or her squirmy rump moving his hand? We will never know.
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